


(All That We Needed Was) One Good Man

by heliotropelied



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Fix-It, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-24
Updated: 2012-07-25
Packaged: 2017-11-10 15:39:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/467921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heliotropelied/pseuds/heliotropelied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there’s one thing working for SHIELD has taught Phil, it’s that dead people don’t always stay dead. He guesses he should have expected that the same rule could apply to him.</p><p>(Spoilers for the film.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One: Where do we begin?

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god. OK. So a long time ago, I watched Iron Man and fell in love with Phil Coulson. And then he up and DIED on me four years later. So I decided to fix it. 
> 
> This is basically my love letter to one Phillip J Coulson.

**PART ONE: WHERE DO WE BEGIN?**

 

> **1.** Phil Coulson first appears on Nick Fury’s radar when he’s only eighteen and running quite the impressive team of computer hackers. He stays there for years, a constant blip on Fury’s radar, until one day, he’s lying there bleeding out – dying from a war wound. Coulson closes his eyes, and just like that, the constant in Fury’s life is gone.

Agent Fury is twenty-eight and he hates teenagers. At best, they’re a nuisance, at worst the bane of his existence. But as is the life of a new senior operative at SHIELD, Nick Fury must deal with such things as going undercover in a high school to take down some young genius.

The kid he’s after has a long track record and if it were anyone other than a petulant teenager, Fury would be impressed. But it is, and he’s not.

Fury’s not really sure what SHIELD wants with the kid either. He’s not a threat – just low level computer hacking into morally ambiguous businesses to make sure their stocks dipped significantly every once in a while. In other words, a leader of relatively smart hippies.

He’s too small time for SHIELD in Fury’s opinion but –

_“He’s known as the Invisible Man. Coordinates lots of little vigilante groups – makes sure they get the job done,” the Director had said._

_“He doesn’t seem like much of a threat, sir,” Fury replied hesitantly._

_“The kid’s good at what he does, Fury. He gets in and out of places without anyone noticing – hell, the teams he coordinates don’t even remember what he looks like most of the time.”_

_“But we know who he is.”_

_“Well, he’s still a teenager; it’s not hard for an agency full of highly trained operatives to find a teenager.”_

_“Then why are we going after him?”_

_“Because, if he’s this good as a kid, imagine what he’ll be like five, six years from now when he decides that the other side pays better.”_

So, essentially, Fury’s first assignment as a senior agent is to contain a threat which hasn’t even occurred yet.

The name on his dossier and the one on the attendance list for the history class he’s substituting for both say Phillip Coulson. Which – Fury’s just glad that the kid at least has a regular name. What astounds him though, is the face that answers to the name.

The file hadn’t had a photo in it – lost in transport to Fury’s office – but whatever he was expecting to see, this wasn’t it.

In the front row of his classroom, sits Phil Coulson wearing neat khakis and a fresh pressed shirt looking all the more adult like than most of the actual adults in the building. And he’s pretty smart too – not like Howard Stark’s son who’s a certified genius, but he keeps up with the class and seems to have all the answers.

Especially to the questions about Captain America’s role in WWII which Fury will admit he finds totally amusing.

The weird part of all this is how Coulson doesn’t seem to take over the class entirely – he somehow manages to be the only presence and no presence at all at the same time. Fury thinks he’s finally beginning to understand why he’s called the Invisible Man.

Worse even still, his peers all seem to have some sort of odd respect for him. When Fury was in high school, kids who dressed and talked like Coulson got the snot beaten out of them. But these kids, they seem to have some strange mixture of fear and adoration for one Phil Coulson.

This is something Fury doesn’t fully comprehend until three hours later when school has ended and Coulson is standing in front his desk.

“I’m not interested,” he says.

“Not interested in what, kid?” Fury asks, careful not to blow his cover until he’s absolutely sure it’s already been blown.

“Whatever you’re offering, I’m not interested. I don’t work for spies and I don’t work for criminal organizations. I’m fine where I’m at and no, I don’t thirst for more. So you can just leave, thanks,” Coulson turns to leave as if that’s the end of the conversation, but Fury will be damned if he lets this kid slip through his fingers.

“What makes you so sure I’m here to offer you anything?” There’s no point in maintaining cover when the kid already has him figured out. (Under extreme duress, Fury will admit that he is kind of impressed by this.)

Coulson snorts as if the answer is the most obvious thing in the world, “You’re definitely not a teacher – I’ve grown up around teachers my whole life and you’re not one of them. You’re stealthy, so I’m guessing spy. And I make it my business to know everything about everyone in this school. There’s no one interesting enough to warrant a spy coming after them. Therefore, you must be after me. I’m not a big enough threat for anyone to want to assassinate me or capture me or silence me – so the only option that remains is: you want me for something.”

And fine, Fury will say it, “That’s pretty impressive.”

Coulson shrugs, “I have a particular skill set – I know people.”

Fury takes note of this – he’s finally beginning to understand exactly what this kid could mean for SHIELD.

“I’m offering you a stable job –” he starts, but Coulson cuts him off.

“And I told you I’m not interested; no spies, no criminal organizations.”

“I’m neither; government, military actually.”

“That doesn’t make it any better and I’m still not interested,” he says, actually walking away this time.

“We could help you, you know,” Fury calls out, a last futile attempt at getting Coulson to stay.

“Maybe someday, sir, but not today.”

 

* * *

 

It’s another three years before they meet again.

Fury has a lot more intel on him now, and a lot more power having been promoted to deputy director. He’s the youngest one to have ever done so and he doesn’t let anyone forget it.

They’ve been keeping an eye on Coulson, just like they keep eyes on Black Widow and Clint Barton, but unlike them, Coulson still hasn’t presented any threats. Fury wonders when kids started to become potential national threats.

Coulson does a stint at Harvard for a year after high school (full scholarship not at all provided by SHIELD –never) when he decides that his time is better served on a NAVY ship doing the grunt work usually assigned to ensigns.

He’s making up his bunk when Fury finds him.

“I thought you said no military.”

At least the kid has the decency to jump in surprise. He whips around to see who has snuck up on him, “Oh, it’s you,” he says.

“It is me,” Fury smiles, “And you said no military.”

Coulson shrugs, his shoulders now broader his stance stiffer than it was three years ago – that’s what military training will do to you. “Things change,” he says.

“What changed?”

“I can do better things here than in a dank basement with a bunch of amateur hackers,” Coulson says.

Fury wonders exactly what kind of good the kid wants achieve. He wants to tell him that heroes don’t exist – good and evil aren’t exactly black and white in this world. They’re not in a Captain America comic. But he stops himself from saying any of this because he knows that the world still needs people who believe in heroes – maybe even more than it needs actual heroes.

Instead, he says, “You could do even better with us than here.”

Coulson laughs, “Maybe someday, sir,” he says, “but not today.”

 

* * *

 

Years keep passing and Coulson keeps moving up the ranks – lieutenant, commander, captain. He almost makes it to admiral but is snatched up by SEAL Team 6 before that can happen (which, Fury thinks, isn’t a bad deal at all).

Fury stays on as deputy director and has Coulson constantly followed. Occasionally, he personally tracks Coulson down. It’s not hard, Coulson never tries to evade anyone who needs to know where he is, but Fury also gets the feeling that Coulson is _letting_ them watch him.

Coulson’s file is always with Fury – ever expanding and changing. It’s not that SHIELD _needs_ him, per say, but more that Coulson is the only one Fury hasn’t been able to recruit and he just can’t have that mark on his record.

Once, he watches Coulson run drills with his team. Coulson’s supervisor, Harper, stands with him – as if to make sure SHIELD doesn’t kidnap their captain because it’s no secret that SHIELD _really wants_ Phil Coulson.

“He gives commands well,” Harper says. “He takes them well too. I’ve never seen such loyalty and dedication in _anyone_. The SEALs all respect him which is good, because, well, I know a lot of men like Coulson who’d get the shit beaten out of them if they didn’t command the kind of respect he does.”

It takes a moment for it to hit Fury, “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell?” he questions.

Harper shrugs, “I didn’t ask, he didn’t tell,” she says. “But things happen off base and on leave. Word gets around sometimes. All I’m saying is that if he were anyone else, he probably wouldn’t have gotten this far.”

“I guess he’s just special,” Fury says.

“He is,” Harper agrees, “And if you do anything to hurt him when he transfers over to SHIELD, you’ll have a shit ton of Marines and SEALs to answer to, Fury.”

“I don’t think that’s happening anytime soon.”

“I think it’s happening sooner than you think…I’ve seen the papers in his chambers. Trust me, he’ll be defecting to the dark side soon enough,” Harper smirks.

“We’re hardly the dark side.”

“You’re the darker side of the light side,” she amends.

Fury nods. He’ll take it, he thinks.

“Sometimes I think he’s leaving those papers out on purpose for me to find,” Harper says, “Like he’s giving me early notice so that I can find someone to replace him.”

“Phil Coulson is nothing if not deliberate,” Fury agrees.

 

* * *

 

And this is the game they play for eleven years – Fury loses an eye, Coulson loses an entire team, Fury asks Coulson to join SHIELD and Coulson says, _maybe someday, but not today_.

Fury begins to lose faith in reaching _someday_. Until –

Until the day Agent Fury becomes Director Fury.

There’s a knock on the door of his brand new office which is directly across the hall from his old office. Fury’s already neck deep in bureaucratic bullshit and not in the mood to deal with some junior agent’s tentative questions or his new deputy director’s requests so he doesn’t answer.

The door opens either way and Agent Sitwell is standing on the other side of it. “Sir?” he asks hesitantly.

“Yes, Sitwell?”

“This was dropped off for you at the front of desk – it’s marked urgent.”

Fury’s eyebrows quirk up, a sure sign that he’s interested, “What is it?” he asks.

“They look like personnel files, sir. I know they normally go to HR, but I thought it would be of interest to you.”

“And why would you think that, Sitwell?”

“They’re Phil Coulson’s files, sir – with a request to transfer to SHIELD,” Sitwell says. He cautiously steps into the office and sets the folder on Fury’s desk, then scurries away.

Fury stares at it for a moment, contemplating whether or not there is a danger in opening it, until curiosity wins out and he flips it open. The first page in the file is a handwritten letter on paper that seems to be several years old. It’s undated, but addressed to _Director_ Fury, so he can only assume that it was written to be sent on this day.

What follows in the letter is further proof as to why Phil Coulson would be an asset to SHIELD. Because he’s one deliberate son of a bitch.

 _Director Fury,_ the letter reads, _the following documentations are my personnel files as well as a request to join SHIELD as soon as possible. It has always been my intention to work for SHIELD, but sir, you must know that I was only willing to work under your command. I have always told you I would join you someday, and someday has finally come. I will be in the lobby at eight AM tomorrow waiting for your answer. Respectfully, P. Coulson._

And sure enough, the next day Coulson is there bright and early in a well-tailored suit waiting for Fury.

 

* * *

 

 _Dying is not as Phil expects it to be. He’s faced death many times – at sea, in the middle of a firefight – but he’s never actually_ died. _He doesn’t know what he expected (maybe a white light, a messenger to greet him) but this isn’t it. Because Coulson doesn’t feel like he’s died at all._

_He must have because he can see the medics try to revive his body; he can feel the compression on his chest from futile attempts at CPR. But the blood stains on the body he’s watching are not there on the one he’s walking in. So Coulson’s not really sure if this is dying._

_Maybe this is just waiting._

 

* * *

 

 

> **2.** Clint knows even before they tell him that Phil is gone. He knows that Natasha isn’t telling him the whole truth when he asks her how many they’ve lost because he can’t hear Phil’s tinny voice talking to him over the comm. Phil always welcomes him home no matter where they are and the fact that he hasn’t heard a word from his handler since Natasha knocked him upside the head is a sign that something’s happened. So when he goes to fight alongside the Avengers in Manhattan, he isn’t fighting for what Loki did to _him_ , but for Phil, who Loki _killed_.

 

They meet during an overseas op that the Navy has commissioned Clint to consult on. Phil, of course, is leading the team and if Clint resents being ordered around, he doesn’t show it.

Clint may be the best sniper out there, but Coulson can hold his own and he respects that. And the rest of his team seem to respect that too. It’s like, on the one hand, Coulson is kind of a badass and on the other, he’s kind of the kindest, most caring guys Clint has ever met. He’s a drill sergeant and a mother goose all at once. Clint finds it infinitely amusing.

There’s a certain amount of respect that Clint has for Coulson that he’s never had for anyone else. It’s not that Clint has a problem with authority, but more that he has trust issues. And taking orders from a stranger involves a certain level of trust that Clint can’t afford to dish out. But Coulson somehow extracts it from him anyway.

Coulson is perhaps the best military personnel that Clint has ever worked with and he’s pretty sure if the opportunity comes up again, he’ll take another mission with him.

The mission is a simple terrorist cell takedown – they go in, take prisoners, release victims, attain intel, and get out. It goes fine until one of the terrorists decides to blow himself up and then it’s all downhill from there.

Coulson has eight other SEALs on his team and including Clint, there are ten of them. They’ve gone over logistics and plans and tactics until Clint’s brain went numb and no one could keep their eyes open. They don’t go in expecting any kind of snafu.

So when the bomb detonates, it throws them all off.

The building sets on fire and there’s shrapnel everywhere. Clint has already counted at least ten civilians lost, and two of their own men have been struck down by very large, flaming debris. Clint is still busy sniping down any and every criminal he sees trying to make a break for it. From his perch up in the tallest building in their radius, Clint can see almost everything that’s happening – but he can’t see it all at once. Which is why he doesn’t notice the fire on the ground slowly creeping its way towards the propane tanks located in middle of the building where almost all of Coulson’s men are trying to evacuate civilians.

The thing about Coulson is that, thus far, he has presented with nothing but unflappable calm. Clint is almost convinced that he’s not a human but one of those not-so-secret, secret life model decoys the government has been trying to create.

This theory is thrown out the metaphorical window when he notices too late that Coulson is shouting at his men to get out of the building.

“I swear to god,” he hears Coulson’s tinny voice over the comm, “If _any_ of you come back to me dead, I will have you court marshalled. Now, get the fuck out of that building, it’s about to blow.”

“No can do, boss,” one them replies, “We have to get the women and children out.” And the last thing they hear before the propane tanks blow and the entire building goes up in flames.

“ _Fuck!”_ he hears Coulson shout. To Clint, he sounds like one of the mother’s on the ground howling in pain for their lost child.

 

* * *

 

He never does end up taking another mission with Coulson. In fact, he actively _avoids_ missions which have TEAM LEADER: COULSON, P. written on the file. And maybe it’s because he feels guilty and maybe it’s because he’s afraid Coulson’s gone off the rocks like so many the others Clint has seen. Whatever it is, Clint doesn’t see Coulson for another seven years.

He’s sitting in a hole in the wall diner, newly minted SHIELD agent, waiting for his handler to show up. Clint’s been informed that his handler is the best SHIELD has to offer by Nick Fury himself, so he’s expecting some pencil pushing, experienced Yoda type to walk through the door.

What he gets instead is some guy barely older than him wearing a bespoke suit and looking worse for the wear. And that shock prevents Clint from making the connection that this man in the nice suit is the same man he fought alongside all those years ago. Of course, in Clint’s defense, he’s only ever seen Coulson in cargo pants and Kevlar vests – plus, Coulson’s never struck Clint as the administrative type.

“You’ve been avoiding me, Mr. Barton,” Coulson greets as he slides into the seat opposite Clint in the booth.

“I’ve been busy,” Clint replies. It’s not a lie, he _has_ been busy, but he’s also been avoiding Coulson. Not that he’ll admit it. Also, it looks like he can’t do that anymore on account of Coulson being his handler and all.

“I kept requesting to commission you for my sniper missions, but you kept turning me down, Barton. I’m a little insulted.”

Clint shrugs and musters up his most shit eating grin, “I was _busy_ , Coulson.”

“Hmm,” Coulson hums, “Well, doesn’t matter now does it? You’re stuck with me.” And if Clint didn’t know any better, he’d say that, that was a hint of a smile on Coulson’s face.

The waitress comes up to them to offer them coffee and take their orders and once she’s gone, they sit in silence until Coulson decides he’s had enough.

“Look,” he says, “I don’t know what happened when we were in Syria, but I know that we worked well together back then, and I know we can work well together now. So put whatever emotional shit you have going on aside and act professional.”

Clint looks up and smiles, “No emotional shit here, promise.”

“Good. Now, do you have questions for me? You can ask anything, but I can’t guarantee answers.” Coulson’s straightforward, Clint likes that.

And so they play a very one sided game of more-than-twenty questions because, unfairly enough, Coulson knows everything, _everything_ , about Clint.

“How long have you been with shield?”

“Five years.”

“And what, they’re already letting you handle assets?”

Coulson shrugs, “I’m an asset too, and handling assets is what I do best.”

“I’m trying really hard not to make crude jokes right now, I hope you know that.”

Coulson actually, honest to goodness, _laughs_ , “I thank you for that, Agent Barton.”

And they keep going…full name: Phillip J. Coulson, no you may not know what the J stands for, age: 34, security clearance: higher than yours, relationship status: not any of your business, but divorced and single, no I’m not telling you that story.

Clint likes Coulson, more than he like most people. Coulson’s honest – secretive, but he doesn’t lie about the fact that he’s keeping them. Clint thinks Coulson likes him too, but Coulson’s kind of inscrutable so he’s just taking a wild guess here.

Whatever Coulson’s opinion of Clint is, there’s a certain amount of respect between them that tells him they’ll work.

Clint’s glad he finally succumbed to SHIELD and enlisted.

 

* * *

 

_In the mortuary where they’re keeping his body, Phil Coulson, or maybe it’s Phil Coulson’s spirit, sits on the ground staring at the drawer where they’ve stored him._

_The place is rushing with medical personnel and dead bodies – Phil has never seen so many lifeless agents in one place. And then remembers that he is one of them. He wonders if they’re all in the room with him – bodiless spirits roaming around without a purpose, unable to see all the others just like them. But then he wonders if he’s just special._

_Phil’s always hated feeling helpless, sitting idle during battle because he can’t_ do _anything. He can’t pick up a weapon and shoot down some Loki minions; he can’t pick up surgical gloves and help with the injured; can’t pick up a comm and call out orders. Phil is absolutely, utterly_ useless.

_Which should be fine, given the fact that he’s – well, he’s dead. But it doesn’t feel like it because he’s still here and he’s still thinking and feeling._

_He pushes up from the wall he’s leaning against and walks over to the bodies. He lifts the sheets off the faces one by one, naming each agent they’ve lost. Phil is perhaps the only SHIELD agent who actually knows the names of_ every _agent. It’s his job as director of personnel to know. And he wants to know how many agents he’s – how many agents SHIELD has lost._

_The first body is Agent Woo’s and Phil allows a sob to wrack through his body because he’s sort of dead, damn it, and he’ll cry if he wants to. Woo’s comm is still in his ear, Phil picks it up and puts it on, listening to his team save the world._

 

* * *

 

 

> **3.** The cards are the first time Steve has wanted to puke at the sight of blood since his early days in the army. They’re still wet – thankfully not warm, Fury’s not _that_ much of a bastard – they stain Steve’s fingers and he’s literally got Phil Coulson’s blood on his hands. The only other time Steve shed a tear for the death of a soldier was Bucky, but when Fury and Tony leave the room, Steve doesn’t bother holding back the tears rolling down his cheeks. He should have signed the damn cards.
> 
>  
> 
> **4.** Tony Stark doesn’t get sad, he gets angry. The truth is he liked Coulson. Sure, the guy was kind of creepy – in a super-ninja-I-could-pierce-your-tracheae-with-this-paperclip sort of way – but he was also smart and kept up when Tony was talking. Tony always had respect for anyone who could do that. Coulson was like a less hot, more male, less frightening version of Pepper. The thing is Tony considered Agent a friend. And Tony Stark doesn’t take the murder of his friends lightly.
> 
>  
> 
> **5.** Thor watches the Son of Coul die. He watches his own brother murder his friend. And he cannot do anything about it because he is trapped. He watches Phil Coulson, a mortal man, stand up to a god with no fear in his eyes. And Loki maybe Thor’s brother, but Thor will never forgive him for this treachery.

 

* * *

 

_He listens in on Widow’s fight with Hawkeye and he’s there for the moment when they get Agent Barton back on their side. Phil feels sudden calm surround him, like this is what he’s been waiting for – the knowledge that Clint will be alright. He feels almost lighter, which should be impossible because he doesn’t actually have any mass at all._

_“Welcome home, Clint,” he says, but he knows Clint doesn’t hear him. The bitch of it all is that Phil always thought he’d be the one to lose Clint, not the other way around._

_Suddenly, Phil realizes that his left hand feels a lot lighter than normal. Looking down, he sees that his wedding band is gone. Panicking, Phil runs to the drawer they’ve stored his body in. The ring is still on his body, cold from the refrigeration, but why isn’t it on_ him _?_

 

* * *

 

 

> 6\. Despite all other accounts, Natasha Romanoff is not heartless. However, she is very good at hiding her emotions. Years of working for the Russian government has taught her how. It’s not difficult anymore, but when she hears of Phil’s death, it takes all of her strength not to let out a gut wrenching sob. Phil was – he was eleven years older than her, but he was like the father that Natasha never had. A part of her dies with him that day and she knows that no matter what, she will never get it back.

 

There’s something thrilling, Natasha thinks, about being on the run from dangerous government operatives. This is what she’s spent most of her life doing, but the adrenaline rushing through her veins and the blood pumping furiously from her heart never ceases to make her smile.

Natasha’s not a ruthless killer in the sense that she doesn’t plot to kill people. Natasha follows orders and carries out hits. She’s an assassin, not a serial killer. Either way, she’s dangerous but at least this way, she’s an asset and not a liability.

There’s blood on her hands, sure, but she’s been in this business long enough for that not to bother her. It’s become a bit much though, lately. When they order her to take out an orphanage for the sake of instilling fear in the small Russian town the orphanage is in, Natasha realizes she’s had enough.

She’s not without a heart – she doesn’t kill children.

So now she’s on the run from the Russians and the Americans and basically every other nation she’s managed to piss off by killing their government officials.

She’s sprinting through a forest – Russian army closing in from the left and American agents from behind – when a man drops down from a tree in front of her. He’s American, she knows, but not dressed like the other agents. His suit looks black but when he moves and the moonlight glints across his shoulders, she can see that it’s purple. Which – OK, she wasn’t expecting that.

Not that she was expecting him to jump out from the tree either, but she’s not letting him know that.

“I see you’ve gotten yourself into a sticky situation,” he says. “Need some help?”

Natasha scoffs. She doesn’t trust many people – she doesn’t trust anyone – let alone some American who hides in trees.

The man sighs, “Look, as far as I can tell, you’ve got three options here: one, you try to get out of this by yourself and get yourself killed by them; two you can try and leave here and get yourself killed by me; or option three – and I’m kind of partial to this one myself – you come with me, I keep you safe, get you protection from a highly capable agency and you don’t die.” He has a shit eating grin on his face and Natasha wants to knock out his teeth.

“So,” he says, “what’ll it be?”

Natasha has exactly seven minutes before the Americans and the Russians close in on her and this guy’s offer seems too good to be true.

“I’d take the last option if I were you,” a second voice that is not her own says. Another man steps out of the shadows and Natasha hasn’t wanted to jump out of her own skin this much since she was five and afraid of thunderstorms.  

She doesn’t jump of course – she’s Black Widow, she’s got a reputation to uphold. And she sure as hell isn’t scared of some damn government assholes with shiny guns.

The second man is wearing a proper suit – not battle armour like the first. Natasha wonders if he knows that he’s in a forest in rural Russia.

“Phil Coulson,” he introduces himself, “Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. This is Clint Barton.” He reaches his hand out for her to shake.

Natasha’s seen a lot in her time as a gun for hire, but this has got to be the most surreal moment of her life.

“How do I know I can trust you?” she asks, one hand reaching around to her back to grasp the gun tucked into her waistband.

The second man – Coulson – sighs, “I have twenty agents surrounding the area ready to take you out. We sent Barton to eliminate you, but he has convinced me that you’re worth keeping as an asset. I trust Barton and seeing as he’s offering you a get out of jail free card, I suggested you take it. Otherwise I’ll be forced to make the call to shoot and I’d hate to go back on my word to Barton to trust his instincts. So, what about it, Widow?”

And Natasha doesn’t really have a choice here, does she?

 

* * *

 

SHIELD (that’s what Natasha’s started to call it, even though no one else seems to) is exactly like a government agency and not at all. In the few months it’s taken her to go from fledgling agent to full on operative, Natasha has learned this. They’re still wound up on bureaucratic bullshit that most of the field agents hate and there’s always the-powers-that-be who ruin everything. But no one really cares, is the thing. They stick to protocol until protocol gets in the way; they listen to the World Security Council until they too get in the way. It’s not that they think they’re above everyone, just that generally, when they think they need something done, they’re right.

So Natasha Romanoff, defected Russian spy, becomes Agent Romanoff, agent of SHIELD. She works by herself or with Clint and Coulson or not at all. Most of the other agents are too chicken shit to work with her and she really doesn’t have the patience for anyone who’s not Barton or Phil.

They form a strange camaraderie – Barton and Natasha the master assassins and Phil Coulson their ever suffering handler. Sometimes Natasha feels out of the loop – Clint and Coulson have been working together for so long that they’re synchronized with each other and she struggles to fall in step with them – but mostly, they work to integrate her into their team.

For the first time in her life, Natasha has a family.

It’s pretty messed up, this little family of hers – they kill, they hide, they fight aliens and demigods – but she figures that beggars can’t be choosers and anyway, if she could choose, she would choose Phil and Clint in every universe.

Two years down the road, when they’re in Budapest (the second Budapest, Clint informs her, though the first one was just as much a shit show) and everything that can go wrong does, Natasha is standing in the way of a bullet and Phil’s chest when Clint jumps down from his perch and shoves both of them away. The bullet grazes Clint’s shoulder, Natasha lands on Coulson’s wrist and breaks it and her ankle is twisting in a way that ankles weren’t meant to be twisted. But they’re all alive with menial damage done and Natasha takes a moment to breathe a sigh of relief before she and Phil pull out their guns and Clint aims his arrow and they all shoot at the asshole who thought it would be fun to kill them at the same time.

They make a fucking fantastic team.

They’re being debriefed two weeks later when they’re finally, _finally_ out of Budapest and Fury is ranting at them about self-sacrificing idiots who jump in front of bullets when Natasha decides enough is enough.

“With all due respect, sir,” she says. “We’re SHIELD. We’re not some asshole agency that leaves its people behind. If I can save a member of my team, then I will.”

She sees Clint nod in agreement from the corner of her eye and if Phil has a slight, proud smile on his face then Natasha doesn’t mention it.

Because Clint and Phil saved her and even if she’s still a cold bitch and scary as hell, she knows what that means.

She owes them her life and she’ll take a bullet or worse for the both of them any day.

 

* * *

 

_Being a ghost is a complicated thing, Phil thinks. And yes, that’s what he’s calling this because calling himself a spirit sounds even more ridiculous at the moment. But then, he’s whole life seems to be one bad joke after another…_

_Two assassins, a war hero, a couple of geniuses and a Norse god walk onto a helicarrier…_

_Phil laughs because it’s the only thing keeping him from crying. He thinks Clint would have found his joke funny in that oh, Phil, why do you even try kind of way._

_The battle’s over, the Avengers have won just like Phil believed they would. The helicarrier is a mess and half of Manhattan needs to be rebuilt, but Phil feels like they’ve accomplished something great. Even if he wasn’t physically there for most of it, he helped set it in motion._

_Phil wanders around the helicarrier and watches as agents run around extinguishing fires and stabilizing falling beams and Phil wonders how it came to this. The world hasn’t ended yet, but they can’t afford another attack like this for months or it will._

_The laws of being a ghost work in odd, unhelpful ways. Phil tries to subtly help the cleanup, but his hands pass through everything. He can, however, pick up a comm and listen in on what everyone is saying. He can’t take his damn wedding ring off his own dead body to wear. He can steal Sitwell’s watch to tell the time._

_The universe, Phil thinks, is working against him in the worst way possible._


	2. Part Two: He was a good man.

**PART TWO: HE WAS A GOOD MAN**

 

> **3.** Steve had never really understood how he became a hero. No, that’s not completely true. He understands the logistics behind it – scrawny kid becomes big man and saves some people and other scrawny kids look up to him. He gets that. But in his mind, he’s still Steve Rogers, art student who never learned how to pick his battles. ****

 

The funeral is open casket. It’s the first non-military funeral Steve has been to since the death of his parents. The crowd is at least a hundred strong – solemn faces surround the cemetery and not a single eye, not even Fury’s single eye, is dry.

There were many agents lost that day in the battle for Manhattan, Steve knows this, but he also knows that those funerals were private affairs with family and friends only. Steve hadn’t known any of those agents, but he thinks Coulson might have.

They call for a public funeral because Coulson has no family left to make these decisions and because there were just so many people who needed to grieve his loss.

Steve is in his service uniform and amongst his medals and decorations, is a small, circular pin made to look like his shield. After the mission debrief in Fury’s private office, he’d been asked to stay back. Fury had reached into his pocket and pulled out a small ring box.

“When they redesigned your suit and shield, Coulson saved some of the scrap vibranium,” Fury had said. “He had this made in the hopes that you would wear it with your service uniform.”

The pin was, quite literally, a miniature version of his shield. When Steve had gotten back home, he immediately pulled out his uniform and stuck the pin on. And when he pulled on his suit earlier that day, he wore the pin with pride, and guilt, and remorse, and sorrow.

There is no priest there to give sermons because, he’s told, Coulson had never been a religious man. Instead, there is a long line of men and women who had loved and admired him ready with eulogies. Steve’s own sits in the inside breast pocket of his jacket along with a deck of cards with his face on them.

 

* * *

_Watching his own funeral was never something Phil had imagined. It’s surreal – his body lying in a casket while he stands next to it. He watches his friends watch his lifeless body and sees emotions on their faces he never knew to exist in their repertoire._

  _Life, he thinks, is a funny thing. Or at least, his life is._

  _Phil has always believed in heroes. Captain America was his first and Professor Charles Xavier quickly followed. Phil had joined the NAVY because he knew he could do good things there. His heroes taught him to help people and love humanity. But Phil had never dreamt of meeting them._

  _And yet, he had. The Professor was a good friend of his and he had gotten to save the world with the Captain._

  _The thing is, the Avengers Initiative wasn’t just Nick’s project – it was Phil’s too. Seeing it come to life – seeing the world’s greatest men and women come together to save it, was Phil’s greatest dream. And if his death had to be the catalyst, well, Phil only regrets leaving Clint behind._

  _But here’s the point, Phil had wanted to see it all come together – had imagined it every day. And now they had and Phil had to watch from beyond the grave. If he resents the fact that Hill got to take his position – Phil’s dead (sort of) so he’ll allow himself this moment of weakness._

 

* * *

 

> **4.** Tony’s always been one to build what he needs. No one at home to look after him? Ok, build an AI to do the job. No food? Build robot to make it for him. Tony builds when he’s upset – when he’s anything really, but the point is, that this only happened because he was upset. And Tony doesn’t regularly admit to his own weakness, but Coulson’s dead and he’s mourning in the only way he knows how. He builds an Agent Coulson action figure that says things like _I’ll tase you and watch Supernanny while you drool on the carpet_. Mostly, Tony says that it’s because he was bored, but really, he knows it’s grief. ****

 

The last time Tony was at a funeral, he was burying his father.

 He hadn’t cried then – he was too busy being angry and resentful for that – but he lets the tears roll down his cheeks now. Tony’s not one to cry and he can count on one hand the number of times he has since he was seven. But he lets himself do so now because no one, _no one_ , has ever sacrificed themselves for Tony.

 He knows that Coulson did it thinking it was for the good of the world, but Tony can’t help but feel that if it weren’t for Agent, first name Phil, he wouldn’t be as a good of a man as he became that day in Manhattan.

 Pepper is sitting next to him, clutching his hand and making no effort to hide her tears. Every few minutes she uses her free hand to wipe away both his and her tears. Tony feels ridiculous sitting there holding his Coulson doll, but he figures his dignity is a small price to pay.

 He’d tried – he had, for the past week and the first couple of minutes of the funeral, Tony had tried to be the emotionless jackass everyone knew him to be. But then Fury walked in front of him and he saw the wetness in the director’s eye and well – if Fury could, then so could Tony.

 

* * *

Fury says:

> _Phil Coulson was my good eye. The first time I met Phil, he was a kid running a team of amateur hackers. He was a pretentious ass, even back then – wore clothes that were more adult than most of the adults he knew. I knew back then that he was special. It took me ten years to recruit him to SHIELD, but all that time, he was always a part of this agency. All that time, Phil Coulson, deliberate as ever, was planning for the day he joined up. It took him exactly four months to work up to a senior level position and that takes more dedication than everyone here has combined. Phil Coulson was easily the bravest man in any room and today he is the bravest man amongst all of us. We owe our lives to him because he gave his for us._

 

And Harper says:

> _Coulson was the greatest soldier I ever knew. The first time I ever saw him, was on his first day as a SEAL. He was unassuming and underestimated. He came in as a commanding officer and a lot of the guys resented him for that, but they got over that quickly. His first mission as team leader, he walked into a flaming building to retrieve one of his men even though everyone else was sure it was a lost cause. But Coulson turned to me and said, with all due respect, ma’am, I don’t leave my men behind – this is no exception. And I don’t think any man has ever felt any safer on a mission than when he works under Phil Coulson’s command. Because Coulson never left a man behind._

 

* * *

 

> **5.** His father always told him that he felt too openly, but Thor cannot bring himself to pay mind to his father’s admonishments. He has never been to a Midgardian mourning ritual, and it is truly, entirely different from that of Asgard’s. The men and women here wear black and watch with sorrow and the people they love are buried in the ground. Thor most surely looks out of place with his red cloak and silver armour. But he is here to mourn his lost friend so Thor will disregard this feeling of not belonging and instead focus on the sorrow which drowns his heart.
> 
>   **7.** Bruce is perhaps the only one here who has never had direct contact with Phil Coulson. But it goes to show what a great man he was because Bruce still feels the loss keenly.

 

* * *

And Hill says:

> _I don’t know why I’m standing here and Phil isn’t. Not many people believe me when I say it, and I don’t say it to many people, but Phil was more qualified to do my job than I am. I don’t know why, but he got stuck as a glorified baby sitter. I guess he had to because no one else would do the job. And that’s the kind of man Phil was – always doing the things no one else wants to and no one else can. Where we work, we never say things like_ don’t send a woman to do a man’s job _because that will get you killed. We say,_ never send a director to do a Coulson’s job _or we say_ keep calm, call Coulson. _You laugh, but it’s what we teach the junior agents and it’s what we tell the senior ones to do because no one, no one could ever do what Phil Coulson did. And what Phil Coulson did was save the world everyday armed with a pen and a lot of sit-rep forms._

 

 

And Natasha says:

> _I loved him. And that's all that matters because above everything else - above being the best damned handler, above being the suit to end all suits, Phil Coulson was family. Nothing can ever change that._

 

* * *

 

> **2.** Clint hasn’t had a home in a long time, if ever. Home was always just a word to him like love and affection and acceptance. Before he met Phil, home was a fantasy. He’s never really belonged anywhere – too mouthy for his parents, too quiet for the circus, too moral for Barney – but he’s never had qualms with it until he realizes that he doesn’t belong with Phil. And that’s when his heart really breaks, because he knows he likes Phil and he knows he wants Phil to like him. But Clint is far too damaged, too broken to belong with the likes of Phil Coulson.

He wears the suit Phil bought him for their anniversary dinner. He never got to wear it – their anniversary was still a month away – but he figures this is the right time to wear it. There’s a single white rose pinned to his lapel just like the day of their wedding and damn anyone who ever said that Clint Barton wasn’t a romantic.

He doesn’t organize the funeral or have any say in what happens because he’s sure Fury already knows what Phil would have wanted and it hurts too damn much to think of burying his husband.

There are a lot of people here to mourn the loss of Phil Coulson and Clint is not the least bit surprised. Phil never really knew how much he meant to most of the people whose lives he had touched. He had always thought of himself as a very efficient fly on the wall, but Clint knew better.

Phil was the glue that held worlds together. Clint has no doubt that it would have been a hell of a lot more difficult to save Manhattan if they hadn’t had Phil on their side. He also knows that he could have caused a lot more damage to the helicarrier when he was under Loki’s control if it weren’t for the fact that he was still trying to keep Phil safe.

Clint handles a lot of sensitive information and more times than not, the safety of a lot of good people is in his hands. But he would sacrifice all that, he would wreck entire worlds if it meant that Phil was alive and happy.

The one input Clint does give on the funeral procession is this: no priests or preachers. Fury looks confused because for as much as he knows Phil and for as good friends as they are, Fury doesn’t know that priests scare the living (dead, Phil is dead, Clint) shit out of him. But Fury doesn’t argue with him for a minute because, Clint figures, he knows that fighting Clint on anything that involves Phil is futile.

So instead, they get the people who were the closest to Phil to say a few words. There’s Fury, Phil’s old CO, Harper, Natasha, Hill, even Steve, and of course, Clint. They say things like: he was a good man; he was a hero; Phil Coulson was the suit to end all suits; he was a glorified babysitter, but no one else would do the job. Clint laughs thinking of course Nat and Hill would be the ones to throw everyone off and make _funny_ speeches.

Clint’s the last to go up. He doesn’t have a speech prepared but he knows exactly what he’s going to say. He’s known since the day Phil first kissed him and they both realized that their time together was probably very limited. It’s morbid, yes, but they’ve both known what they would say at each other’s funerals since they started their relationship. Phil had always kept Clint’s eulogy with him in the inner pocket of this jacket.

As he walks up to the podium, he glances at Phil in the casket. This is the most stress free Clint has ever seen the man. He almost laughs because – _I’ll rest when I’m dead, Clint_.

Oh, irony.

Clint steps up to the mic and watches the crowd. They stare at him expectantly, waiting for a heartfelt monologue about how much he loved Phil, but Clint doesn’t say anything. Instead, he does something he’s only done for Phil in private – he sings.

_A long, long time ago / I can still remember how / That music used to make me smile_

His voice shakes. This was the first song he’d ever sung to Phil. In a dank cellar, held captive by HYDRA, arm broken, legs bleeding, Clint held an unconscious Phil and sang.

_And I knew if I had my chance/ That I could make those people dance / And maybe they'd be happy for a while_

Phil’s smile haunts him. They’re sitting in a holding cell in Moscow and Clint’s wondering why the hell he even does this anymore and Phil says, _if you can save just one person – one good, human life – how is this not worth it?_ And fuck, Clint swears that, that was the moment he fell in love with Phil.

_I can't remember if I cried / When I read about his widowed bride / But something touched me deep inside / The day the music died_

There’s an image of Phil that Clint can’t ever forget. That first time they had met, in that battle field in Syria, when they had lost all those people, Clint had shared a room with Phil. They didn’t get back to their quarters until well into the night, but Phil hadn’t gone to sleep. There had to be phone calls made to the families of the men they had lost and Coulson had refused to let news come from a stranger’s mouth. They deserve more respect than that, he said. And if every now and then Clint heard a sniff or a sob coming from Phil’s direction, he had enough respect for the man not to mention it.

_Bye, bye Miss American Pie_

Clint sings as he tries his best not to breakdown in front of people he never wants to see him weak. There’s a quaver in his voice and this is definitely not the best he’s ever sung, but doesn’t care because Phil is gone and Clint has to say goodbye.

_Singin’ this will be the day that I die / This will be the day that I die_

The Avengers join him at the altar, chorusing together like a band of brothers. Clint can’t help but bitterly think, why did it take Phil’s life to bring you here?

 

* * *

The funeral reception isn’t much of a reception at all. Fury sends everyone home after they bury Phil and the Avengers make their way back to Stark Tower. It’s been rebuilt by Tony’s massive amounts of money and technology. It doesn’t even look like it was attacked by a horde of evil aliens from another dimension anymore.

The first thing they do when they get in is head to the den. Tony cracks open a bottle of his oldest, most expensive whiskey to raise a toast, “I was saving this for a special occasion, but I guess there will never be another occasion more special than this.”

Clint thinks he smiles – at least that’s what he assumes the muscle spasm on his face is. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t remember what smiling feels like. Tony grins at him though, so he thinks he’s in the clear.

They sit in companionable silence and Clint wonders how they were ever at unease with each other. Tony sits on the recliner with Pepper in his lap. She doesn’t bother with a glass of her own whiskey and instead chooses to periodically steal Tony’s. It might have something to do with her subtly making sure that Tony doesn’t drink too much, but it might just be that she doesn’t really care at the moment where the alcohol is coming from as long as it keeps coming.

Natasha is lying on the chaise in the corner looking more off her guard than Clint has ever seen her. Her limbs are set akimbo all over the chair and she takes large gulps of vodka straight from her bottle of Grey Goose, grimacing every time because it tastes like shit compared to the expensive Russian stuff she’s used to.

Bruce and Steve sit on the couch carefully sipping on drinks because they don’t want to have more than one. Bruce because he doesn’t like to lose control of his body – for obvious reasons – and the Captain because, what’s the point?

Thor opts to sit cross legged on the floor. He looks decidedly odd with his traditional Asgardian funeral robes and an entire carafe of bourbon in his hand.

They look like a collective relapse at an AA meeting.

Bruce breaks the silence first.

“He sent me flowers,” he says. And OK, that turns a lot of heads. But Clint just closes his eyes and remembers because he _knows_.

Tony’s the one that looks the most flabbergasted, “What?” he asks.

“Coulson used to send me flowers,” Bruce repeats.

“Wh-what occasion would Coulson have to send you – Bruce Banner, alternate personality of green things that smash – _flowers_?” Tony sounds more and more incredulous with every word. Clint laughs.

“When I was running,” Bruce says as he takes small sips from his glass of whiskey, “I ended up in Thailand with a really bad infection. I was in the hospital for a month and every week, without fail, there was a bouquet of flowers and a card wishing me well on the side table,” Bruce sighs, “I may not have known him as well as you all did, but I knew his kindness.”

Clint’s face does that weird, twitchy thing again. Natasha grins.

“I remember this one time – and god, he’d kill me for telling you this,” she starts, “This one time, I was in the med bay after a mission and I was in pretty bad shape. They wouldn’t let me out for weeks. So I woke up on the first day after they sewed me back together and all I could see was this shiny, floating _thing_ in my face. I’m about to stab with the sharpest thing I can find, when it floats away…and it’s a _Mylar balloon_. God, and there was a card and a teddy bear too. And Coulson’s just standing there, smiling at me. I swear, it was the most unnerving and heartwarming moment of my life.”

Tony looks rather perturbed with the information (and also because of the fact that Nat tends to get chatty when she’s drinking), but Pepper is grinning like a madwoman – like she’s always _known_ that under that no nonsense suit, Phil Coulson was a closet sentimentalist.

“So what you’re telling me,” Tony says, “Is that Coulson used to get you guys get well soon gifts whenever you’re in the hospital?”

“Only when we were really terribly injured,” Clint corrects.

Tony pouts, “How come _I_ never got any presents after I came back?”

Natasha shrugs, “Probably because he’d been newly assigned to your case and because you refused to get any sort of medical attention. Also because you’re a pain in the ass.”

A huff escapes from Tony’s lips making him look every bit like the petulant six year he seems so hell bent on making everyone believe he is.

Clint doesn’t know when his life became this – sitting with literal superheroes and gods reminiscing about their fond memories of his _husband_. He doesn’t yet understand how he became a turncoat, a superhero, and a widower all in the span of less than seventy-two hours. It makes him want to cry and laugh and shoot something all at once.

He’ll settle for some more alcohol.

He moves over towards Natasha and sits down in front of her. She passes him her bottle of vodka and runs her fingers through his hair. The only two people Clint has ever allowed to be this physical with him outside of one-night stands, have been Natasha and Phil. Nat because he couldn’t stop her even if he wanted to and Phil because – because Clint hated  thinking about how it would feel _not_ to touch Phil.

Steve unpins his Captain America badge from his lapel and toys with it. His facial muscles twitch like he can’t decide whether to smile or to frown.

“Fury gave me this after the debriefing,” Steve says.

“What is…oh my god is that a miniature Captain America shield?” Bruce asks.

Steve grins and nods. “Made with vibranium and everything,” he says, “He – Fury said Phil had it made for me when I was still under. Apparently they weren’t sure I was actually going to wake up, but Phil…” he trails off.

“Phil knew,” Clint fills in.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I think he knew about this team too – knew that we would work out somehow.”

They’re quite for a while, contemplating their feelings for Phil. Clint’s known about the Avengers Initiative since the day it was first introduced to Phil. It had been Fury’s pet project for a while, Clint knows, but when Phil got assigned to Stark and Banner, it became his too.

Phil had always believed in heroes and the good in people. Clint would call him a naïve optimist except for the fact that Phil was one of the most realistic, pragmatic people Clint had ever known.

Thor, who has been mostly quiet, takes a swig of his bourbon and says gravely, “He was a good man…I will miss him dearly.”

Pepper steals Tony’s tumbler as he pours himself another drink. She grimaces at the burn from the whiskey. “Did anyone ever call the cellist?” she asks.

“What cellist?” Natasha says, confused.

Clint can’t help but smile.

“Phil told me there was a cellist…in Portland? Did he not tell you?”

“No,” Natasha sounds upset and not being given this information.

“Don’t worry about it Nat,” Clint placates, “It was a cover.”

Natasha sighs, relieved that Clint and Phil hadn’t been keeping secrets from her…and, also, Clint thinks that she may have assumed Phil was _cheating_ on him or some other inconceivable thing.

“Are you crazy?” Clint laughs. “If anyone were likely to do that, it would be me, Nat. Phil doesn’t betray someone’s trust like that and you know it.”

Natasha scowls, “And what, you do? I know you Clint and I know for a fact that your stupid sense of loyalty would never let you do that of your own free will. I held my breath for months after Boston waiting for Coulson to screw it up.”

“Shut up, no you didn’t. You’re just trying to save face because you were thinking irrationally,” Clint says smugly.

Natasha throws a pillow at him and her silence is more like a reluctantly raised white flag.

Pepper glances around, confused, “Wait, what are you two talking about?” she asks.

For the first time since they saved Manhattan, Clint realizes that the only people in the room that know about his relationship with Phil are him and Natasha. He’s surprised to find that this the first time Natasha thinks of it too when she smacks him upside the head and says, “You haven’t told them yet?”“I’m sorry it must have escaped my mind – I probably should have dropped that bomb sometime between the fifty billion debriefings and the funeral planning,” Clint snaps.

Clint can’t see her, but he can feel Natasha roll her eyes.

“If you two could take a moment away from your lovers’ spat, I’m still very confused,” Tony butts in.

Clint and Natasha cringe, “We’re not lovers,” they say in unison.

“I’ve been married for ten years, Stark,” Clint says. “Sleeping with Natasha would just be plain wrong.”

Tony scoffs, “To who?”

Clint sighs and undoes the first few buttons on his shirt so that he can pull out the chain hidden underneath. It’s simple and silver with two dog tags and a gold band hanging from it. He unhooks it from his neck and takes a moment to finger the embossed letters on the tags before sliding them off the chain and tossing them to Stark.

The first tag is Clint’s – a remnant of his brief stint in the army after joining SHIELD:

> BARTON  
>  CLINTON, F  
>  567-12-4924  
>  A NEG  
>  NO PREF

The second is a copy of Phil’s from his SEAL days:

> COULSON  
>  PHILLIP, J  
>  112-32-5434  
>  O POS  
>  NAVY SEALS

Tony’s first reaction to the tags is, “Coulson was a SEAL?” and then, “You were married to _Coulson_?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so the third and fourth parts are being written right now. They'll probably be up next week. I think I'll just post twice every week. That sounds plausible...
> 
> The song Clint sings is Miss American Pie by Don McLean. Jeremy Renner sings it in Love Comes to the Executioner and you can look that up on Youtube. It's the wrong part of the song, but you get the point.
> 
> The next part is an intermission wherein nothing happens other that schmoopy feelings, but I promise there is plot coming!


End file.
